Bound to the Tracks of the Train
by unbelievers
Summary: AU. Dean and Castiel are two different serial killers who have heard about each other on the news but have never come face to face. What happens when they do? Got this idea from a tumblr post, so... thank you for that! Destiel ship. Rated M for later stuff...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yo! This is my very first fanfic :) This is based off of a tumblr post I saw... I really liked the idea and so did a few other people. So, if it's bad, be brutally honest in the comments and I'll stop ruining a beautiful plot! I am a very big Destiel supporter, btdubs, soooo... yeah. Whatevs. If you like it, be brutally honest about that also, please! Big hugs to all.

"Son of a bitch," muttered Dean as he rifled through the files. The paper files that incriminated Dean. Those files. The owner was a reporter who had too close of a run in with Dean on one of his… uh… business' business. But yet, not close enough – the reporter had gotten away with footage of his FACE. His face on camera was not a good thing. It had never happened before. Now the reporter was considered a freaking nationwide hero. They had "WANTED: DEAN WINCHESTER" plastered all over the country. Being a serial killer was sometimes really annoying.

Now it was the reporter's time to die, and she knew it. She – the reporter – had some other footage of some other killer, who called himself "The Angel" or whatever, which was also over the news. Dean didn't really care. He was "The Hunter," man. HE was the best, obviously in both name choice and everything else. Anyway, the reporter knew she was being hunted, so she was in Witness Protection, assuming it would protect her. Dean chuckled to himself. It was kind of cute how people would think they could get away from _him._

The TV in the empty office building he was in was blasting the news, talking about Dean, of course.

"Now that the serial killer who identifies himself as "The Hunter" has been identified as a man named Dean Winchester, FBI is now working on naming the other well-known killer, "The Angel.""

Dean stopped what he was doing. Did they really just pass over him like that? Were they really focusing on the angel dude? What was he doing going through the reporter's files if police had already found out who he was? He spun to look the security camera in the face from across the room. He pushed the file drawer back in, and he slowly walked over to the camera. He paused for a moment.

"You're never gonna catch me. Also, I'm still better than you, Angel," he said. Then he winked, and ran out of the room.

He liked to hum as he worked, especially when he knew he did such a good job. The reporter was dead. The footage she had gotten had been all over the news for the past few days, and he just got hold of her. He was happy, and he was sure The Hunter would be pretty happy; at least, happy that she was gone. Or maybe he wanted to do it. Oh well. It was done now, and it had been fun. Castiel always thought that the Hunter – or Dean Winchester (an interesting name) – and he would get along quite nicely, killing and whatnot. Castiel had never had a friend before; all the kids kind of ran away from him when he was younger, they always said he was 'scary.' So when he hit the teen years, he was always disappearing and reappearing, seemingly at will. He moved out as soon as he could, and he'd been "the Angel" ever since. He didn't really have an interesting background – if Hunter did, he'd like to hear it sometime. As friends.

What was he gonna do with this body? He had stabbed her 27 times, and at the most cliché place in the world: an alleyway. Unfortunately, he realized that not to get caught, he had to just stuff it in the dumpster. Also cliché, and rather sad… what a work of art wasted. But there was nothing else he could do.

After making sure that the body was hidden but could also be found, he quickly took off his gloves and his rain poncho (he learned the hard way to always use it), replacing it with the long-coat he always wore. He scratched at his beard, rolling his shoulders back. He quietly snuck out of the alley, coming out onto a crowded sidewalk. He walked into a nearby outlet store, with only a few employees in it, their eyes glued to the television hanging above the counter. The newsperson seemed very serious. Castiel caught some of what was going on:

"…claiming that police would 'never catch' him, and that he was 'better than Angel.' Let's look at the footage that the security guards found later that day."

Castiel watched as a clip of "The Hunter" truly showed him saying that he was uncatchable and that he was "still better than you, Angel."

Castiel was a bit taken aback, but he didn't know why. Surprised that he was addressed personally by Dean Winchester, he supposed. He already had nationwide recognition, why not from another psychopath?

"…as a man named Castiel Collins." The Angel was called out of his reverie and stared dumbly at the TV screen as a sketching of a man that looked a lot like him was shown. He slowly turned to the security camera, and smiled broadly. Then he ran out of the store, and by the time the cashiers looked at the door, he was gone.

A/N: Okay... off to a rather shaky start, no? ;) But hopefully it'll get better. Yay for your reading this! And thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hilo! Thank you for reading the last chapter and coming back for another! :)

"…Police still have not found either Dean Winchester or Castiel Collins. They are both suspects in the recent murder of Grace Olsen, the reporter who captured the killers on video. Do you remember the security tape footage of Dean "the Hunter" Winchester seemingly mocking Castiel "the Angel" Collins? Well, there has been another tape found, this time of Collins in response to Winchester. Take a look." Castiel watched as his face again appeared on the TV, this time in the form of the security footage of him smiling at the camera. They seemed to treat it all – the killing, the killers – as a game, and he didn't appreciate it.

He'd had to keep his hood on all the time, maybe getting only 3 hours of sleep in the past 48 hours. He had to leave the city, too, and now was at a diner a few hundred miles out. He was pleasantly surprised he had not gotten caught yet. He was even more surprised that Winchester hadn't been caught yet.

He first heard of The Hunter a few years back. A couple months after everyone was abuzz with news of the recent killings of "The Angel", they found a body, stabbed in a way that did not fit his 'style'. So they attributed it to a new killer. Then the local police station got a call saying something about another killing and "The Hunter"; and, the next night, there was another stabbing. Castiel had admired him from the start, although he seemed kind of boisterous, sometimes leaving notes and bragging that no one would ever figure out who he was. Boy, was he proved wrong. Castiel hadn't caught onto fame that quickly – he had killed 5 or 6 times before the media began talking about it, then in comes Winchester to steal it all away. But Castiel was not a man to hold grudges against fellow killers. Even if they were little braggarts.

He looked up to see the lady behind the counter staring at him. He slowly got up and walked out of the diner.

Dean huffed into a dingy little building, bumping shoulders with someone going out. He was finally out of the city, and now in the middle of nowhere, having seen the Angel smile at him through the tape. The Hunter growled. It seemed like Castiel Collins – as he had heard his name – was making fun of him. He didn't very much like it.

Dean went up to the counter and ordered something. He didn't really know what, he wasn't really focused; and he was too surprised by the lady's calmness about it. Maybe she hadn't been watching the news.

"Have you heard about this serial killer, the Angel, I think it is? Police know his- well, basically everything and yet they still haven't caught him! Isn't that unbelievable? It's a little scary, too," she said as she put his cash in the register. Dean swallowed hard and faintly nodded. He started breathing more heavily.

"Woah, bub, you okay there?" she asked, handing him his food. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," he said, licking his lips, "It is just a little scary though, huh? A killer amongst us." She nodded and he turned to sit down.

"Hey, wait," she called, before he could. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" He slowly spun back to face her, cringing to himself. "Aren't you that… that, uh… that actor? Jensen or Jared something?" He kind of chuckled, and shook his head.

"No, I'm not."

"Oh, okay. Have a nice day."

"Yeah, you too."

And he sat down in the booth to catch up on rest he desperately needed.

A/N: too much? I don't know. Oh well! If you liked it… feel free to tell me! If you didn't… everyone has different opinions. We didn't really get anywhere with this chapter, did we? Oh well! Again!


	3. Chapter 3

**Obsession-is-my-life:** first of all, I love your username :) Second of all, I'm glad you like it! Either in the next chapter or the chapter after that, I will definitely put some actual murder in there. Thanks for the review!

**Cinerescent:** thank you! Your review inspired me for these next few chapters. This is all going to be background, and hopefully… it's not TOO boring.

A/N: Okay, so, this chapter's gonna be background stories, yay! If it's, like, confusing in any way, I am very sorry! Just tell me about it and I will do my best to clear it up/fix it. I love you all! 3

"Happy birthday to you…" Castiel smiled as he blew out the 8 candles on his cake. He'd been looking forward to his party all month. His mother was there, his father was there (for once!), his friend –_only _friend - Ezekiel was there. Castiel was a very lonely child. But he was happy.

"Alright, present time!" his mom said, bringing over a few poorly wrapped gifts. One was a plastic bag with "CAS" written on it in permanent marker. After untying it, Castiel brought out a baseball glove. His dad looked on, smiling broadly.

"Thanks, dad!" Castiel didn't appreciate baseball as much as his dad did, but he liked it when his dad was happy.

Then next present was from his mother, proven by the fact that the gift was a teddy bear, all dressed up in blue overalls.

"I know you liked blue, so…" she smiled and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, Cas."

The last present was a mess of tape and wrapping paper; he struggled to rip it open, but when he did, his mouth opened in surprise and happiness, and was very soon tackling Ezekiel in a hug. In his hands, he held his very own _Superman Adventures_ comic.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you so much Ez!"

"You're welcome, Cas, now get off me!" They were both rolling around on the floor, laughing.

"What did you wish for, son?" asked Castiel's father, stopping the boys from going outside.

"What, dad?"

"What did you wish for when you blew out your candles?"

"Oh, dad, that'll spoil it!"

"Let's just keep it between you and me and Ezekiel, then, shall we?" Cas paused for a moment, but finally caved.

"I wished that I could fly." His dad stared at him, kind of surprised. He blinked a bit, then turned his attention back to what he was doing.

"That's a good wish, son."

The sky had gathered dark clouds, and it had begun to sprinkle, when the boys went outside to play. Castiel and his mom lived in a little house sitting on 5 acres or so, but next to it was an abandoned construction site.

"Come on, Ez, let's go! Race you there!" cried the new 8 year old to his friend. The boys ran the whole way to the site, screaming with joy as the wind tore at their faces, and rain blinded them. The construction workers had once been building a very tall office building, but at stopped at the third floor, giving up on it. A perfect play-place for little boys such as Ezekiel and Castiel.

"Cas, come on, let's play something," said Ezekiel after catching his breath.

"Well, what do you want to play?"

"Um, let's play… hide and go seek! You're it!" and the laughing boy ran away into the unfinished building, leaving Cas behind with nothing to do but start counting.

"1…2…3…4…"

"Dean Winchester."

"Here."

"Denise Gardner."

"Here."

Dean looked back. So the new girl's name was _Denise,_ huh? He hadn't really paid attention when she was announced. But she was really… well, 'pretty' was the only way he could put it. He'd have to be sure to catch her at lunch. She smiled up at him, and he smirked back.

The last bell before the lunch hour finally rang. Dean hung around until after everyone in the classroom had left, then he found Denise and trailed behind her. He overheard some conversation she was having with some of the other girls she'd made friends with.

"So, I saw you smile at Dean…!"

"He's like, the cutest guy in the class."

"Definitely! He's had, like, a lot of girlfriends."

"What if you're his next girlfriend? Wouldn't that be exciting?"

"Well…" Denise stopped in the lunch line. "Let's talk about this at the table, huh?"

The line, of course, was very long and very slow today, especially for Dean, but eventually, he did get his food, and eventually, he worked up enough courage (he'd never been nervous before!) to go up to the table that Denise was sitting at. He cleared his throat.

"Hello, Denise." He smiled.

"Hello… _Dean, _is it, right?" He liked the way his name rolled off her tongue.

"Yep. Mind if I take a seat?" She shook her head, and he sat across from her. Her friends stared at her, grinning, and she cringed.

"We gotta go, seeya Denise." All of her friends got up at the same time and walked out of the cafeteria. Denise was blushing fiercely, and tried not to show it, but Dean had already seen it and he thought it was cute.

"So… how do you like it here?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Oh, um, it's nice. I like it. I've made friends. It's okay."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that."

"And what about you…? Have you lived here your whole life, or-?"

"Yep. Born and raised in this city, and I'll probably die in this city. I wouldn't have it any other way, though. I love it here."

"That's cool. I'll probably feel like that someday."

"Have you seen the fountains that we have?"

"Fountains? No…"

"Oh. Okay, then, what about the museums?"

"Um, well, no…"

"Well, then you're missing out. Maybe sometime we can, I don't know, go out for coffee and I'll give you a tour of the city?" He _almost stuttered_ there.

She smiled, and looked down.

"Sure, that sounds awesome."

"Are you free this Saturday?" She looked up.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"How about 12 o'clock? 1? Anything works for me."

"Um, yeah, 12 would work for me. Here's my number." She brought out her purse and pulled out of it a slip of paper, and wrote her cellphone number on it. He stood up; she handed it to him, and he said goodbye with a sideways smile.

A/N: So… yeah. A lot of dialogue. I will be continuing these specific stories in the next chapter. Do you like the way I'm doing it, with both of their perspectives in one chapter? Or should I not do that? I'm open to anything! :) I hoped you liked it. I need to get more of a writing pattern down. I'm thinking like I'll post every other day.

P.S. Dean is in high school... if that wasn't clear...

Thank you for reading/following/favoriting! It means so much! *sniffle*


	4. Chapter 4

**Obsession-is-my-life: **glad you like it that way, cause I do too :)

**Deamon-of-light:** happy to hear you're enjoying the plot! I can definitely be more descriptive, I'll try my hardest. I will take go off and on from time-period-thingies like every other chapter, that's a good idea!

**Crimsonmitsukai34: **yeah, that post had like 12,000 notes or something like that? It was a really good idea. I'm excited you like it!

A/N: okay… so last time I said I would be continuing that specific part of the story, but I'm going to take deamon-of-light's advice and switch off era-things every other chapter. It will prevent it from getting boring. So it's present day in this chapter. And there is murder in here… Hope you enjoy! :D

Castiel bolted up, awaking from his nightmare. He couldn't remember it now (isn't your mind funny like that?), but it still seemed there. He looked around; he was up against a concrete pillar, underneath a bridge. He could hear the roaring of a nearby river, the tires of cars on the bridge, and even the birds in the trees behind him. Where was he?

Then he remembered. He'd had to abandon basically his whole "normal" life and had slept the night away under this bridge. Yesterday he'd gone to that diner, where that lady _didn't_ recognize him, which had really quite surprised him. He scratched at his beard. He felt in his trench-coat pockets for his phone, when he realized he'd had to throw that out. He sighed, and buried his face in his hands. He needed to move to next city – where had he put his other coat? The one with the hood? Ah, he had been using it as a makeshift pillow. He picked it up, brushing it off, then he took off his trench-coat, putting it in his backpack that had fallen to the ground. He stood up, and proceeded to walk.

As he walked, he kicked little bits of asphalt scattered along the side of the road. He suddenly heard the grumble of a semi-truck coming up behind him, and then slow down next to him. The driver leaned out the window.

"Hey, do you need help there?" the driver smiled, showing about 20 yellow teeth. Castiel paused a moment, considering what to say, pulling a bit back into his hood.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. My name's Joe. Do you need a ride?"

"Um… I don't know." Cas rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'll just take you into the next town, if you want. I have to stop there anyway." Castiel felt like he – one of them – would regret it if he took the offer. He nodded his head and hopped in the passenger seat. They sped off; the trucker had the radio blaring the news, and listening to it made Cas shift in his seat. They were talking about the recent murder of Grace Olsen, the reporter. The driver saw him squirm and quickly turned the volume down.

"Squeamish, eh?" Joe chuckled. Castiel shrugged.

"Not really. But thinking that both of these killers are out on the loose kind of scares me." The driver nodded.

"Yeah, I can understand that. It's all over everything. But me personally, I think that everyone's overreacting. Who cares if a couple big time serial killers, like the next Jack the Ripper or some shit like that, are out around? I can take care of myself," he said, spitting as he talked.

"Well," said Cas, "It's always good to be on your guard. Do you know what they look like?"

"I know what one of 'em looks like. That 'Angel' fellow… tall, beard… not far from you." Castiel slowly turned his face from the window to the trucker, who had a smug little grin on his face. Cas glanced at a road sign. 3 miles to the city. He could wait.

Or could he? This man was incredibly opinionated and didn't seem to care who he was with as long as he was talking. Castiel tried to tune it out, praying for the miles to go quicker. Finally, the trucker turned on the exit to go to the inter-belly of downtown. He breathed a sigh of relief; trucker would shut up at last.

"Turn here," instructed Cas to Joe, motioning to a truck stop.

"What?" the driver asked. "I could just drop you off at a motel or something." Castiel gritted his teeth.

"Just do it." He complied, cautiously pulling into a parking space.

"Look," he said, "I don't want any trouble, alright?" Suddenly the trucker had a knife to his throat, with his passenger leaning over him, whispering into his ear.

"I am the Angel," he heard. He started hyperventilating; he wanted words to come out, but nothing but cries and yells came out. But through this, Castiel could make out a few words:

"Please don't! I won't say nothing to nobody, I promise! Just don't hurt me!" The Angel laughed a little, before jutting his knife through the bottom of the trucker's jaw. He screamed out in pain, and something about 'mercy', but he couldn't really talk anymore because of the hold the knife had on his tongue. Cas slowly drew it out, and gently cut the man's neck, and again, deeper, and again, even deeper. He kept going on like this until he thought he was going to kill him, so he stopped, and began stabbing his chest. 27 times he stabbed him, ignoring the vital organs for the moment. The trucker was still barely bleeding, and Cas could either let him bleed out (how would that be fun?) or he could finish his work faster. He opted for the second choice. He quickly flipped the man over.

"I heard that they didn't know whether it was me or Dean Winchester who killed that reporter," he said, "because they couldn't tell the difference. Well, everyone's gonna know who murdered you." He dug his knife into the man's back, first on the left side, then on the right – into the shape of wings.

Dean walked into the crowded shopping center. Bombs weren't really his thing, but he figured it needed to be done – he needed to be on top again. He'd been to this place many times when he was younger, so he knew exactly where to put the homemade explosive: right in the middle of the food court. That's where everyone was bound to be.

He had two backpacks on him, the one that he was actually using in his run from authorities, and the one he was getting rid of. He looked a bit awkward lugging both packs with him, but he hoped he didn't look as suspicious as he felt. He tried not to let anybody or any camera see his face beneath his baseball cap. As much as he tried not to, he heard little snippets of the news report.

"…be on the lookout for these two men." He looked to the TV he heard and he saw sketches of Castiel Collins and himself. But there was something wrong about his…

"They just can't get my nose right!" he exclaimed a bit too loud for his own comfort, and before anyone could look, he hurried on his way.

As he looked around at all the people around him – the fathers, the mothers, the children – he realized what an amazing news story this would make. He was stopped by a few sample-givers but eventually made his way to the middle of the food court, the middle table. He sat down, got his backpacks off of his shoulders, and pretended to check his phone. He unzipped the backpack he was to use, ever so slowly he unzipped it; _click click click. _He pushed a button, setting off the timer. 10 minutes. He had 10 minutes to get out. He _slowly_ zipped the backpack back up, and set it underneath the table.

He walked away, congratulating himself, making a beeline for the exit, when suddenly a small hand grabbed at his jacket.

"Excuse me, sir," a little voice said, "You forgot your other backpack!" It was a little boy, and he had the backpack that Dean had just left under the table. He licked his teeth.

"Well," he said, taking a deep breath, "Thank you, very much. Here you go." He handed the boy a loose coin from his pocket, which happened to be a quarter.

"Thank you, and you're welcome, sir!" The little boy scampered off to wherever his parents were. Dean sighed. He looked around once more, and headed towards the men's room.

Thankfully, it was empty except for him. He went into the farthest stall, and took out his backpack again. _6 minutes left. _Quickly, he took the bomb out from the backpack and wrapped it in toilet paper, stuffing it into his pocket. He left the backpack in the stall and went out again into the food court. He went towards the trash can near the center and tossed the wad of toilet paper in, trying to be inconspicuous. He heaved his other backpack upon his other shoulder, pulling down the bill on his hat.

He went towards the exit once more, when suddenly, an idea occurred to him, but he had to hurry. He almost skipped to the nearest little store in one of the other parts of the mall, looking for a security camera. He found one down an empty hallway. He took off his baseball hat.

"Show how amazing you are, _Angel, _and beat that," and he bowed, his head nearly touching the ground. He spun around, putting his hat back on, and, taking out some sunglasses of his bag, he put them on too, and ran to the nearest exit, with _1 minute_ left on the timer.

A/N: Okay, so more focusing on Castiel this time around, but that's okay, right? Tell me how I did on the whole murder thing. Was it just terrible? Was it amazing beyond belief, so amazing, in fact, that you think I'm a murderer? And how was my description? Too much? Too little? Tell me what I should/can fix and I'll try my darndest. :) As always, thank you for reading/following/favoriting/reviewing!


	5. Chapter 5

**Obsession-is-my-life: **I'm glad you liked the whole murder thing! I was worried it wouldn't be okay. I think I will give Dean a signature even more than what he has (I think they each had some sort of signature, it just wasn't strong enough to have the police tell a difference). I really don't know the _details_ on how everything's gonna work out when the meet, but I have a pretty general idea :)

**Mosspath****: **Yes, it was a 'Tangled' reference! It's another tumblr thing, lol. I don't know when some actual Destiel stuff is gonna come in, but I hope it's soon too!

**Ayoo:** I'm glad you like it so much so far! But goodness, I totally meant barely BREATHING not BLEEDING. I can't believe I didn't catch that! Forgive me, it's fixed now!

A/N: Sorry for not writing for a while! These past few days have been hectic. Anyway, this chapter is another flashback-thingy. And I'm doing something kind of different; it's only going to be Dean's POV in this chapter, and Castiel's POV flashback will be in the next chapter! Hope you like!

"Happy 8 months together, baby," said Dean, kissing his girlfriend.

"It's been a wonderful 8 months, Dean. I love you," replied Denise, kissing back. Their anniversary was conveniently on a Friday, and the graduation was tomorrow. Things were going well for the both of them; prospective colleges, future jobs. They were going to move in together in a couple of weeks, and they were _happy._ Suddenly breaking from the hug, Denise said she had to go.

"I will see you tonight at your place at about 7 o'clock then!" Dean called after her, confused as to why she had to go, and she waved to him.

First thing he did was go to the florist. Denise loved roses, and Dean didn't care how cliché it was, he was gonna get her a dozen red roses.

"A perfect choice," the florist praised, ringing the price up to something… expensive for a guy just graduating high school… but Dean didn't care. Nothing was too expensive tonight. He put the flowers in the back of the Impala, making sure they didn't get crumpled. He crawls in the front seat, taking a deep breath, and smiling to himself. He headed to the supermarket.

About an hour later, he returns to his parent's house, carrying in about 5 bags of groceries on each arm, and going back to the car for more.

"Mom? Dad?" He yells, and receives no answer. He shrugs, and drags all the bags to the kitchen. He pulls out flour, sugar, cherries, and magazine after magazine filled with recipes for pies. Dean loved pie, and he knew Denise liked pie (who doesn't?), so he was going to make a pie for their anniversary. He also bought 10 boxes of chocolate, but that was not the important thing. He was making a pie! A _cherry_ one at that. So, taking his jacket off, and putting his favorite apron on (the one Denise got him that said 'Kiss the Cook'), he began to bake.

He figured to start the dough first. He was making everything from scratch, and it would most definitely take all day. He studied the recipe, getting out the proper amount of flour, salt, and shortening, mixing it up into balls of dough. Only 10 minutes in, he had most of the flour in his hair and on his hands. A lot of the salt was on the floor, and the shortening was stuck on the sides of the bowl. Somehow, though, he made it work (it wasn't supposed to take this long, was it?), and moved on to the filling.

He took all the cherries from all the boxes and dumped them into the sink to be rinsed off. He had never removed pits from – well, _anything_ before, so he had a bit of a half-hour trouble with the first one, but he got the hang of it. His mom would've liked to help him, he thought: she always made the most awesomely delicious pies.

He mixed the sugar with the other things, ignoring the ¾ cups of sugar on the recipe and pouring over half the bag into the mixing bowl. He didn't know what it would do, but he figured it would only be good. He read the instructions again.

"**Put cherries in with liquid materials. Let sit for six to seven hours**."

"Six to seven hours?!" Dean cried. It was already 3 o'clock, and he was supposed to be at Denise's place at 7! And there was _no way_ he was just going to quit on this and buy a pie. He had worked _too damn hard _for that. He decided to let it sit for _1 _hour and in that time he would go take a nap. He would come back and read the rest of the recipe.

"**Cook liquids. Set drained cherries to the side, remove 1tbsp. of juice and mix with 3 to 4 tbsp. of flour. Put the rest of juice over the stove and turn it to medium heat. Mix in flour and juice paste and cook until the cherry juice becomes thick and then remove it from heat and allow to cool. Add cherries afterwards.**"

Dean scratched his head and squinted his eyes. Had he done it wrong? Or in the wrong order? He shook his head. It didn't matter now, he had slept for over an hour, and had woken up cursing himself. It was a quarter to 5. He proceeded to mix the juice with the flour and ended up burning himself on the stove more times than he'd like to admit but it was finally done. He put the pie in the oven to bake for 45 minutes. A few minutes later, at a quarter to 6, he was taking a shower, washing all the ingredients out of his hair, and cooling down. His parents were still not home, but that didn't really surprise him; they were often gone on day trips to who-knows-where – they took full advantage of their retirement.

Dean let the warm water run over his body for about 15 minutes. Then he went into this closet to get dressed. It was his 8 month anniversary, he wasn't just going to wear his old jacket and jeans. No, no, no, he was going to wear something special. He had a couple suits he could wear; he had waistcoats that his mother always said 'looked dashing' on him; and, of course, he had his flannel shirts.

He would save the suits for their year anniversary. Tonight, he was wearing his red flannel shirt, and he figured Denise would like it, and even if she didn't, he figured he wouldn't be wearing it for very long, anyway.

It was 6:30 when he left for Denise's apartment, leaving a note for his parents. He arranged the flowers to his liking, put the pie in a bag, resisting the urge to dig into it, and wrapped up the chocolates in floral-pattern sacks. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was nervous, and he didn't know why.

It's okay to get to your girlfriend's place 20 minutes early, right? Right. Yet, he waited for about 10 more minutes before actually going into the building. He grabbed all his stuff and had to take the stairs to her floor because the crowded elevator would take too long. It was only 2 flights up, anyway. He stopped at her door, calming down his breath, and he knocked. No answer. She must not have heard; he knocked once more, louder this time, and still had no answer. So, he rang the bell. He placed his ear up against the door, but he heard nothing. He sighed, and put his stuff down on the ground, feeling on top of the door frame for the spare key she had. He opened the door, taking his gifts with him, and called out her name.

"Denise?" He walked towards the dining table and placed the gifts on it.

"Denise?"

He cautiously heads to her bedroom, thinking he hears something coming from it. He knocks on the door, and the noise immediately stops. He flings open the door, and sees Denise on her bed. Naked. With a man. A man that is not Dean Winchester.

"Dean, I can explain! Dean!"

Dean had never had the most controlled temper. In fact, he had always had a _bad_ temper. And some part of his consciousness told him that he should calm down, but that was a very small part. Most of his brain was telling him to go full on rage here, so he did. He blocked out his girlfriend's cries, and when the man from the bed tried to sneak past him through the door, Dean exploded in anger.

He grabbed the man's throat and flung him against the wall, yelling.

"Dean, don't!" cried Denise, but it was way too late for that. Dean was pressing all his weight against the man's throat, sliding him across the wall, right and left and right again. Dean didn't really quite know what he was doing: something else seemed to be taking over. He grabbed the man's hair, and used it to bang the back of his head into the wall, splattering blood over everything. He picked the half-conscious man up, and threw him to the ground, making a grisly thud; he stomped his boots onto the man's nose, then his forehead, blood splattering over the carpet. He was dead.

Dean breathed heavily, kind of shocked at what had just happened, but not in a bad way. He almost – yes – _enjoyed it._ The feeling that someone was dying at his hand gave him a _rush._ He turned to his girlfriend, blood on his nice flannel and his nice khakis and his nice boots. Denise was staring horror-stricken at the thing which had just unfolded in her bedroom, and began screaming when her boyfriend walked towards her. She grabbed at anything in reach to protect herself, but in vain – he was coming. Wait, what was that? _Scissors, _on the far end of her nightstand. If she could just grab them – but no. Dean had gotten there first, snatching up the scissors, and holding them to her throat.

"Dean… please…" she whispered, a tear slipping out of her eye. She noticed the wild look in his face disappear for a moment… but right away, it came back, and he pressed the edge of the scissors into her neck, blood coming out. She started to scream again, but he covered her mouth with his hand. He took the scissors from her neck and started stabbing her in the abdomen, and in her stomach. He was surprised the scissors were that sharp, but he dismissed it and went back to stabbing. He moved lower to the thigh. Cut, cut, cut, he cut deeper and deeper until the blood started drizzling out. He moved up to the neck once more, and shoved the whole thing right through it, until he could see the blade come out the other side. He pulled it out and did it again, in a different spot of the neck. Denise was long dead, but he couldn't help stabbing her even more. He felt she _deserved_ it. She cheated on him with some ugly, good-for-nothing son of a bitch. She _got _what she had coming. He _loved her,_ and she betrayed that. He scratched at his chin, making it red with the blood on his hands, and he stared at her body, with so many rips in it.

Had he done this?

Yes.

He went to the bathroom, and cleaned his face and his hands. He took off all his clothes, and changed into the murdered man's clothes which were on the floor of the bathroom. He turned on the light to her bedroom. He grunted; he had a hell of a mess to clean up, and he had to make sure to not miss anything. He would make sure the police never found him, ever. Ever. No matter what it would take. He figured that he probably wouldn't graduate from high school tomorrow.

A/N: OKAY! THAT'S DONE! WOOHOO. I don't really know about this chapter. Was it really dry, like in the beginning? How was the cooking scene? I've never actually baked a pie before, so I had to google it. Oh, well! How was this murder scene? I tried to convey that they were freaking HAPPY AND SHE TORE HIM APART. MADE HIM SNAP. Anyway. I hope you liked it this time, too! Tell me what I did wrong, or what I did right, because I'm open to both. Next chapter is probably gonna be up next Sunday/Monday. It's gonna be like a weekly thing, because that's easiest for me, so I can write actual good chapters! And besides, this story needs a schedule. (: Ciao!


	6. Chapter 6

**Ayoo: **I'm glad you're happy with that murder scene. I wasn't too sure about it. Thank you :)

A/N: This is Cas' flashback, left off from when he was playing hide and seek with Ezekiel. It's gonna be a little short, and it's been a long wait (for what? _this_ chapter?)… but I still hope you enjoy!

"26…27…28…29…30! Ready or not, here I come!" Cas ran into the abandoned construction site, knowing his friend was in it. He could hear dripping coming from somewhere in the half-finished building; there tools everywhere, but there was nowhere to hide on this first floor, so he scampered up the stairs, tripping on his coat in his hurry.

"Ezekiel…" he called, tiptoeing across. There were broken floorboards just laying around, scattered everywhere. Careful as he was being, he didn't notice the nail sticking up, and his pant-leg was caught on it, making him trip. He put his arms up in front of his face and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the fall. When he opened his eyes, he realized he had created a hole, and the only thing that was stopping him from going down was the nail that had snagged him. What an incredibly strong nail. He scooted back from the hole as quickly as he could, trying to calm down from the rush of adrenaline.

"Ezekiel!" He called, still sitting there. "Ezekiel, I don't think we should play here!" He got no answer. "Ezekiel!" he cried, more fervently, and still got no answer. He stood up, cautiously yet hurriedly going over to the last set of stairs that led to the third floor. As he reached the top, a loud clap of thunder shook the rickety building, the flash of lightning coming right after.

"Ezekiel, we need to get out of here, and go home!" he yelled, sprinting around the room, looking behind every piece of discarded construction equipment there was. He must be on the roof, Castiel thought, running to a window. He stuck his head out, yelling up to the sky, rain pelting on his face.

"Hey! Come down, Ezekiel!" He wondered how his friend got up to the roof in the first place. He looked around, and saw a ladder hanging from the wall, above another window. He ran over. He stuck his head out; the ladder was directly above him. He stood on the window sill, and, steadying himself, reached out to grab the rung. It was slippery from the rain, but when he thought he had a good grip on it, he jumped from the window. _It's just like monkey bars,_ he figured, and started to pull himself up. He slipped once or twice, but after what seemed like forever he finally got up there. The rain had most definitely picked up, and he could barely make anything out.

"Ezekiel!"

He cupped his hands around his eyes in an effort to see something. He wrapped his jacket around himself, the wind having tried to blow it off. He made his way forward, looking down, making sure he didn't fall. He went all the way to the other side, not seeing any trace of his friend.

"Ezekiel! You win, come on!" he called, but it was no use. His voice was lost to the elements. He started walking the other way, doing his best to keep his balance; there were strange metal poles sticking up, some long, some short. Suddenly, he tripped once more, his face landing inches away from a particularly sharp pole. He turned his head, and noticed a silhouette a few feet away.

"Ezekiel!" he called, crawling over. "Ezekiel?"

Yes, yes it was Ezekiel. As Cas got closer, he could make out the bright red shoes that his friend had been wearing. He seemed to just be lying there, and Cas started to shake his shoulder.

"Ezekiel?" he whispered. His eyes trailed down to his friend's torso. His stomach had been pierced with one of the metal poles.

"Ez, no!" Cas clutched to his best friend's head, the storm raging around him. _This is something that is not real,_ Castiel thought to himself as he felt tears on his face, mixing with the rain. Ezekiel couldn't have gotten _impaled_, those things just didn't happen anymore… Cas learned about it in social studies, Vlad the Impaler? He stuck people on spears and things and they died… how did this happen? Did Ezekiel trip like Cas did, only not landing as luckily as Cas?

Somewhere, Cas could hear his name being called, but he ignored it.

He hated hide-and-seek after that; not like he had anyone to play it with.

A/N: Okay! After a week and a day of waiting… it's pretty pathetic, I know :C But, anyway, this is Cas' trigger, I guess. He was basically there when his best friend died. That's traumatizing! I've read somewhere that serial killers started off by witnessing something like that and then started killing little animals… which is probably what Cas did after this. Another sad face :C But, anyway, tell me how you liked/hated this chapter! ALL feedback is welcome. Next chapter is going to be present day!


	7. Not a real chapter, more of an update

Hey, guys! :)

This isn't really a new chapter... I just thought I'd let you know that the next actual chapter should be posted by Wed. night!

I've kinda been sick - and, even though I have more time to write, I've been mostly sleeping.

I'm not quitting this story, don't worry! :)

Thank you SO MUCH for the likes and follows!

unbelievers


	8. Chapter 8

**Ayoo:** Please, continue with the spell-checking! :) It's a tremendous help; I'm so happy that you're looking forward to my updates, it makes me feel special!

A/N: As I've said, I've been a bit under the weather. I'm sorry for the delay, hopefully I will get better soon. Sorry if this chapter is not up to par :( Cas' viewpoint is a couple of days after the shopping mall explosion caused by Dean, and Dean's is right after he leaves the mall. Sorry if that's confusing! I think the next chapter they will both be in the same timeframe. Enjoy!

Castiel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He had come across some batteries for his old radio and was now listening to the news.

"A man's body was found… with a pair of wings carved into his back. This killing is assumed by officials to be the work of Castiel Collins, aka 'The Angel'. Police are still looking for any hint of his whereabouts. In related news, Dean Winchester, aka 'The Hunter', has been spotted and has alluded the police yet again. He is top suspect in yesterday's shopping mall bombing."

A _bomb?_ How desperate was Dean Winchester to win this little war? Castiel stood up off the rock, and packed his radio away in his bag. He was near the river once more, and had washed his clothes from the blood; they were drying now, and he was baring all to the heat of the day. He had left the town and had kinda just wandered back here, though a bit farther down the line. Closer to the place where that shopping mall had been, which meant closer to Dean – well, assuming he had stayed around. And Castiel had found it was never a good idea to assume things.

He needed to get to a security camera. He remembered the hunter's message, word for word:

_"Show how amazing you are, Angel, and beat that." _

What a taunt! Castiel decided his clothes had dried enough, and got dressed. He began walking, staying close to the river this time. He had to go forward, no matter where that was; he couldn't risk anything by going back. Castiel paused, squinting at the sun. It was about noon, and his food supply was certainly dwindling. In fact, he realized he only had a can of fruit left, having eaten everything else. He should have rationed better. He'd only been on the run for maybe 5 days and he was already out of food. He had a little bit of money left, too, something he could probably buy food with, if he wanted to take a chance. He started to run.

He sprinted all the way, maybe about 5 miles, to the city; not the brightest plan, perhaps, to waste his energy like this… but he was fit, healthy. He was okay. He got his sunglasses out of his bag, and, quickly putting them on, he walked on into the heart of the city. He had to admit, his shirt and jeans were still a bit wet and wrinkly, even after the exercise, but he hoped no one would notice; he seemed to be fitting in well so far. He was walking down the main street, peeking into shops' windows, mostly looking for the supermarket. Finding it, he walked in with a big crowd.

He felt for his money in his pocket – a 10 dollar bill. He wanted to get something that would sustain him in small portions. Fruit was charged by the pound; he could get a few apples, maybe a few more fruits, then some vegetables. He knew he would probably have to adapt to a vegetarian lifestyle, not knowing when the next microwave would come around. He put some food in the little plastic bags they had and went up to the checkout.

There were two cashiers there, and they were whispering to each other. Castiel stopped, and looked around: this was the only checkout line that was completely clear. He slowly walked up, put his groceries on the belt. One of the ladies looked him up and down, out of the corner of her eye, but he ignored it as best he could, and adjusted his sunglasses.

"Hello," she said, beginning to ring up his things, "Did you find everything?" Cas cleared his throat and nodded. He didn't want to talk, for her to hear his voice. She seemed to be staring into his soul for the longest time as she bagged his few pieces of fruit and vegetables. He actually felt _nervous_; what if she recognized him? Sunglasses weren't _that_ great of a disguise. He swallowed deeply. She finally finished – and he quickly walked away. As he walked away, he heard her whisper to her friend, "_Douchebag."_

Dean had hightailed it out of that town as soon as he got out of the door of the mall. Not waiting around for the explosion (even though he really couldn't escape seeing it), he had run to the abandoned building which had temporarily housed his prized possession – his '67 Chevy impala that he had when he was a kid. He got some fake plates, and had been careful around the cops on the road, therefore he had had no trouble. And this baby was in pristine condition; somehow he had found the time to keep it that way. Anyway, he had run to his car and driven happily away.

He was driving down a little empty highway, some music wafting from the radio out the window, Dean's voice along with it. Even though he didn't like the desert, and was surrounded by it, he was feeling confident. The explosion was sure to be all over the news, and he was proud of that. He knew, at least, that Castiel Collins couldn't be accused of doing it, since his recent murder was in a completely different location.

"Turn the music down and pull over!" Dean was jerked from his reverie and glanced in the rearview mirror. Blue and red lights flickered with a siren going. He looked down at his speedometer – 80 miles per hour – and he looked at the speed limit sign coming up – _70 miles per hour._ He held in the urge to scream, and pounded on the steering wheel instead.

"Pull over!"

He glanced in the mirror again. He had two choices: make a run for it, draw attention, and either get killed or thrown in jail; _or_ he could stop and comply. He took the second, and, slowing down, he pulled over to the dirt shoulder, the police car pulling up behind him. Dean quickly pulled his hat down and put his shades on, trying to block his face as best he could. The cop walked up to the window.

"Do you know how fast you were going just now?" he said, holding his belt loops, his potbelly spilling over his pants.

"Too fast, I think." Dean cringed at his own answer. He had never been very good with cops. The officer sighed.

"Yes, you were speeding. Can I see your license and insurance, please?"

"Can I get out for a second, though?" asked Dean, reaching down in his pocket.

"Uh –"

"Thanks." Dean got out of the car and pulled his gun out of his pocket, pointing it at the officer's head. After the officer realized what happened, he raised his hands.

"Look," he said, shakily, "I… I don't want any trouble. Now, I'll let you go. You don't even have to worry about that." When Dean showed no backing down, the cop continued. "I have a wife, and 3 kids… do you wanna see 'em?" He reached to his pocket, and Dean pulled the trigger.

"That was easy," he muttered to himself. He stood there for a moment, staring at the wide expanse of land before him, not a living thing on the horizon. He threw his gun in the impala and started dragging the dead cop to the police car by his feet. He heaved the body in the passenger seat, and crawled into the driver's seat; he started it, and backed it up into the middle of the road, making sure that it would be hit by whatever car came next. Pleased, he ran back to his baby, and drove away.

A/N: Okay… definitely not the best. Sorry, it seems a bit short. I PROMISE DESTIEL STUFFS WILL COME SOON! And frankly, I can't wait ;) Guess what? I hit 8,500 words in this chapter! That's kinda exciting, and yeah, so… till next time (which will hopefully be Sunday)!


	9. Chapter 9

**Obsession-is-my-life: **Thank you :) I'm glad you got the hang of the time gap thing. This chapter is taking place on the same day, so hopefully that's better.

**Ayoo:** Yay, maybe my late night editing is getting better? And I'm glad you're enjoying… it all (:

A/N: Okay, so it's the Sunday/Monday morning that I promised! Yayy… like I said, in this chapter it's where Cas left off and it's the same day for both of them. I think it's a bit of an awkward chapter, so sorry for that, and it's short (even shorter than the last one – sorry!). But hopefully it makes sense and you enjoy it and yeah.

Cas stuffed his newly gotten groceries into his backpack as soon as he got out of the store. He looked around, wondering if anyone was paying any special attention to him: they weren't. He breathed a sigh of relief – that lady had come to close for comfort to figuring out who he was. All he had for "protection" was his "angel blade" (as he liked to call it), nothing quick, like a gun. But he preferred his knifing abilities, they were quick enough. He shook his head, and began walking along the sidewalk.

He passed a guitarist, who was leaning up against a shop's wall, strumming and sometimes singing "Carry On My Wayward Son"; Castiel had always liked that song. He paused, and turned to look at the man. He had chin-length brown hair, and was more than a few inches taller than Cas himself; he was wearing a red plaid shirt, and when he sang, his voice rumbled like thunder, it was so deep. The man smiled at Castiel, who proceeded to look at his shoes and walk hurriedly by.

He walked past maybe 7 stores before he realized he needed to respond to Dean Winchester's "message" from the security tape. He didn't want to wait until the next city, not knowing how long that would take, and, even though he didn't know exactly what to say yet, he figured he'd best do it soon. He had passed a jewelry store, he knew that'd have a security room – he would simply kill the guard (or guards), spill his message, and bolt. He went back to the jewelry store – a Jared's – and quietly slipped inside.

"Hello, sir, how can I help you?" a woman asked right as he entered the door. "Looking for something for your anniversary, or your special one's birthday? Might I show you around?" The woman grabbed his shoulder and tried to steer him over to some (rather gaudy) necklaces, but Castiel stood his ground.

"No, thank you," he said, trying to mask his voice, "I think I'm just going to look around." The woman sighed and let him go. He rolled his eyes and glanced around; he saw no door with a label "SECURITY" on it, but he figured it had to be around here somewhere. It was a one story building, so it must be in the back – behind the counter.

"Of course," Cas muttered, growling. "Just my luck." _Maybe I can sweet talk the attendant,_ he thought, strutting up to the counter, where the door he thought the security was.

"Hello, sweetheart," he almost choked saying it (he hadn't flirted in ages) but he made it through, leaning on the counter. The girl immediately blushed.

"How can I help you today, sir?" she asked, smiling.

"I was wondering if you could tell me where my buddy John was. He said he was a big-shot security guard working here now, and he asked me visit him. He didn't tell me how good of a job he'd gotten though…" he (at least, tried to) seductively lick his lips, glance up and down at her, and wink. He must have looked so stupid doing it, but she giggled, and stumbled backwards, fumbling for the door handle.

"Sure, John's right in there, mister… uh…?" _Thank god his name is actually John._

"My name's… Steve Clarence. But, uh, you can call me Steve. Thanks, dear." He smirked at her as walked through the door.

"He's right in there, doing his job," she pointed down a hallway to the end room. "My name's Meg, by the way," she added, shutting the door behind him. He didn't know how to do this – he ran his fingers along the handle of his blade, sitting in his pocket, his other hand under his backpack strap. He got to the door, and slowly opened it. He peeked in; the guard, John presumably, was sitting in front of about 5 monitors, headphones on. Castiel entered _very_ slowly, standing on his toes, bracing his weight against the walls. He saw a camera in the corner, pointed towards him, but the guard still seemed oblivious. _What a great job, John._ He crept up behind him, and by the time John noticed the stranger coming in, it was too late. The Angel's angel blade had gone through his neck, no time for one last breath. Cas pulled it out effortlessly, and cleaned it off on the guard's clothes; then he stood directly in front of the camera.

"Alright, Dean Winchester," he said. "This might not have been a bomb, but I think it was still better than you could ever do!" Cas started moving his hands about energetically, emphatically. "And you know what? The world doesn't need _two_ of us," he cried, "And I think I can carry your weight." He got closer to the camera. "So, I am tracking you down, and I am killing you." He smiled. "How ironic. The Hunter being hunted." And with that, he put his knife away, grabbed his bag, and walked out of store.

"A police officer was found murdered on the outskirts of –" Dean rolled his eyes and flipped the TV off. He wondered where Castiel Collins was right now, and if they would ever meet. If they did – one of them would probably die. And he'd prefer it to be the Angel. He was spread eagle on the bed, staring up at the ceiling of his motel room. He knew nobody cared who you were at this off-the-beaten-track place right outside of the next city. He had given his name as Charlie Bradbury, for some reason, and they hadn't questioned it.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

"This is the cleaning service," a male voice said. Dean sighed.

"Come on in." The man entered, and when Dean saw him, he swallowed deeply, and got shivers up his spine. The man was Dean's height, skinny and fit; he was wearing a tight black t-shirt. He had shaggy, dirty blonde hair, and the some of the brightest blue eyes Dean had ever seen.

"Uh, I need to fluff up the pillows," the cleaner laughed, rubbing the back of his head. Dean quickly got up off the bed, excusing himself, blushing. The man laughed again, and picked up the pillows, messing with them until they seemed bigger. The bed was already made. Dean wondered why the cleaning service was coming in the afternoon, but he wasn't about to argue – not with this man. As the man bent over, fussing over the bed, Dean felt his eyes go directly to the man's ass… he shook himself, breathing heavily. _If he really wanted this, he could have it,_ he thought, but before he knew it the man was gone.

"Damn it," Cas sighed, leaning against the wall. Since Dean had not touched the bed, he wondered what the guy could have been doing, when he realized that the guy _was doing nothing. _The thought made him get red in the face: the guy had known what his bending over was doing to Dean, so he kept it up for a couple minutes. He had been _flirting_ with him. Dean began to chuckle as he laid down on the bed again… he shook his head once more.

A/N: So… flirting in both POV's. I've already made Dean attracted to guys, which will pave the way for the chapter that I'm planning them to meet in… SOON! Cas is a little rusty (obviously) on his flirting, but with guys I think it'd be easier for him. Idk. Also, another murder in this chapter, even if it was just a little blurb at the end; sorry if this chapter seemed rushed or bad in any other way. It's been a long day. :) The next chapter, I think, will take place a couple of days after this and it'll start with Dean's perspective.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Okay, the bank that Dean goes to is in a _very small town._ And he needs money, so yeah. And I'm starting another Destiel fic! Yay! But I probably won't be posting any of it until this story's done, or at least almost done. Anyway, hope you enjoy! And leave review on telling me what you thought of it :)

Dean slowly pulled into the bank's parking lot. There were only 6 other cars here. The moon was out, and it was getting later in the year; the two together made for chilly weather. He turned the heat off in the Impala and got out, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself, and blew into his hands. His mask was already on.

He walked into the small building, pulling a gun out when he walked through the door. A lady instantly screamed and pointed at him.

"Alright, everybody!" he yelled to the 10 people that were there, "On your stomachs!" He ran toward the bank teller, pointing the gun at him. "Give me the money! All of it!" Dean held open a bag. The teller shakily and slowly obeyed, taking all of the money within reach and stuffing it in the bag. Maybe $100. Dean chuckled, making the teller even more scared – Dean raised his arm and smashed the butt of the gun on the man's head. The same lady screamed again.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, turning on his heel. He walked a couple steps toward her and she fainted. He looked around the room; nobody had their phones out, nobody was trying to be a hero, and everyone was quivering, face flat on the floor. Dean liked that he had caused so much fear. They had good reason to fear, too: he wasn't planning on keeping anyone alive. Placing the gun on a nearby table, he got out his knife. Hell, if 'The Angel' had a signature, what with the wings and all, why shouldn't The Hunter? He went first for the lady who had passed out. He didn't know exactly how he wanted to leave his mark; maybe he would just add something after he'd killed everyone. He smiled.

He turned her limp body over, and slit her throat. _That was easy. _He looked around again. No one had seen it. Good, he could still kind of take them by surprise.

"Stay down, everyone, you hear?" he cried. All was still. He noticed a small fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. He went over, grabbed it, and went back over to a dude who was lying on the ground. He crouched near the man's head, the man not stirring, but breathing heavily. Dean brought the fire extinguisher down on the guy's head as hard as he could, and the work was _breathtaking:_ brains, blood, bones and flesh had gone splattering everywhere, and yet no one made a sound. Maybe they thought they had a chance if they did.

After about 30 minutes, Dean's work was done. This guy over here's head was smashed, but the rest were stabbed to death, some from the front, some from the back. And that lady, over there, she had _antlers_ carved into her back. Of course he hadn't drawn inspiration from the wings that Castiel Collins had done. No, no, Dean 'The Hunter' Winchester was completely original. He never copied anyone, especially someone whom he hated and who was trying to kill him. As that thought crossed his mind, he laughed bitterly and shook his head.

Oh, yeah. He was _so_ scared. He looked at the ceiling for a camera, and found one.

"I'm really scared, Castiel," he cried, looking up, taking his mask off. "But I'll play your little game of hide and seek. And guess what? _I'll win." _

He put his mask on and ran out of the bank, the stench of blood clinging to his shirt.

He drove until morning, when he came (finally!) to a big city. He wondered how long he was gonna keep doing this, hopping around from big city to city, running from the law, having to hide his face from everyone except security cameras. But right now, he was enjoying it, so he decided not to worry about it.

Castiel had screwed up this time. Well, he hadn't really done anything, but someone had recognized him for who he was:

"That serial killer from the news."

Now he felt like he was in a movie, or some kind of dream, because the cops were literally looking for him with flashlights in alleyways, behind dumpsters, and the like. He could laugh if he wasn't in so much danger; he wasn't _stupid_ enough to _actually_ hide in an alley. No, he underneath some poor sap's front porch like some kind of animal. _Well…_ he basically was an animal, so it wasn't that far of a stretch. He just needed to get out of the city. He'd (admittedly, being stupid) stayed in the same town that he killed the guard in. Yeah. He didn't know why he stayed, knowing that he had promised to hunt the Hunter, but he did, and now this happened. He'd been _literally_ been running from police for a couple hours now. They were swarming everywhere, and he hadn't seen his chance of escape yet, but he could feel it was coming, and soon. He was _cold,_ his legs were cramping, he was dirtier than usual, and frankly, he was scared. Scared that he would be caught and arrested and… he shuddered. No use thinking about stuff like that, he said to himself. Maybe he could sleep here tonight. They weren't looking around here… no, that would be the very definition of stupid. No, he was just going to have to suck it up, stay awake, and wait for an opening.

He could see two policemen conversing about 50 yards away. They were the only ones he could see, and he glanced all around; if they were the only ones near him he could make a run for it, take the highway out. He grabbed his backpack, and got ready to spring out from under the porch as soon as they walked away. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally walked off in the opposite direction. He glanced around one more time, and ran away.

The highway was literally in sight, all he needed to do was sprint. He breathed a sigh of relief, and was about to go when he was pushed down from the side, and suddenly felt a searing bolt of pain. He looked up and was blinded by a flashlight. He heard a voice.

"Suspect down. Yeah, just off the corner of Main…" Castiel shook himself free of the pain and rolled over, the police officer who had shot him with a Taser completely oblivious, talking to his radio. Cas pushed himself up off the ground. He was breathing like a madman, and the cop had turned so much that his back was now to the Angel.

"Big mistake, buddy," Cas whispered, tackling the man, snapping his neck. He rolled the body over, took his badge off, his wallet in his pocket, and crushed his radio that he had been speaking in. He realized where the cop had been hiding, which was by a brick building at the end of the street. He rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe the guy had no backup; but it would probably be coming any minute, so he ran off.

After running enough to only see the city lights as little blurs, he stopped to catch his breath, and try his luck at thumbing. To his surprise, the first car that passed stopped. The lady who was driving seemed concerned for him, seeing him panting like he was.

"Are you okay there, buddy?" she asked as he got in. He nodded, just now realized how much the electric shot had hurt him, right in his side, too. She introduced herself as April.

"Steve," he said.

"Where to?"

"The next town, if you would, thanks."

"No problem."

A/N: OMYGOSH YOU GUYS I CANNOT WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER. SERIOUSLY. AND THEN THE ONE AFTER THAT IS EVEN BETTER OMG.


End file.
